


Fleeting Flights of Fancy

by sleeperbyday



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentioned Golden Deer Students (Fire Emblem), Mentioned My Unit | Byleth, One Shot, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slice of Life, wow theres like no characters in this one huh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:48:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29353719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeperbyday/pseuds/sleeperbyday
Summary: 5 times Lorenz winds up in Claude's room.1 time Claude is invited into Lorenz's room.
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester & Claude von Riegan, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 1
Kudos: 82





	Fleeting Flights of Fancy

**Author's Note:**

> As always, thank you very much to my friend Congercine for idea bouncing, beta reading and generally putting up with my bullshit 💜
> 
> tw: death mentions in parts 3 and 5

The first time they find themselves alone together in a private space, Claude isn’t in a good mood.

It’s hard to keep up his usual relaxed smile when Lorenz follows him out of the cathedral and all the way across the monastery, flapping his gums about noble etiquette and principles the whole way. He’s either oblivious to how much Claude wants him to go away, too enamoured with the sound of his own voice to notice, or he just doesn’t care.

They reach the second floor of the dorms at last and Claude picks up the pace until he reaches his room at the far end of the hall. Lorenz is still lecturing him - at some point the topic changed from Claude’s status as heir of House Riegan to his ‘improper attitude and mannerisms’ - and doesn’t take the hint when Claude lays a hand on his doorknob.

“Okay, Lorenz, I get it,” he snaps impatiently, cutting him off. “Thanks for your valuable advice. I’ll be sure to give it a lot of thought. Now, why don’t you rest those vocal cords in the meantime? They must be pretty worn out by now.”

Lorenz sputters, too stunned to reply. For a few moments, the hall is silent and Claude revels in the peace and quiet as he twists the doorknob. He expects Lorenz to break the silence with an offended huff and stomp back to his own room, but doesn’t expect footsteps to follow him inside before he can close the door.

Claude stops, turns, blinks. Lorenz stands in the centre of the room, _his_ room, and plants a hand on his hip in a gesture that’s far too casual for Claude’s liking. Most people don’t make a habit of waltzing right into others’ private quarters, especially those of their self-proclaimed arch-nemeses, but Lorenz seems too worked up to notice his misstep.

“These shows of insolence are _precisely_ what I am talking about. How do you expect to foster and maintain connections among the nobility acting so disrespectfully?” He pauses and his lips pull into a smug smile that makes Claude’s skin crawl. “Not that you will ever be in a position where such connections will matter. Delude yourself all you want, Claude, but you are _not_ the true leader of the Leicester Alliance.”

It’s nothing Lorenz hasn’t already said to him by now but the absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on Claude. He’d attempted to shrug it off and leave peacefully after Lorenz called him a fraud right to his face, only to be chased and cornered in his own bedroom. There’s just no winning, Claude thinks as he folds his arms. Well, no matter. He might not be able to win the argument, but getting Lorenz out of his room is more important.

“You know, for someone who just spent ten minutes going on about respect and appearances, you’re remarkably comfortable inviting yourself into a man’s room,” he pointedly lifts a brow and looks at Lorenz like he just tracked mud all over the floor.

Lorenz blinks, his grin vanishing without a trace. He looks around the room like he’s only just noticing the literal and metaphorical boundary he’s crossed and clears his throat.

“I suppose it should come as no surprise that your room is as filthy as this,” is all he says after a short delay, quiet after all the wind’s been taken out of his sails but no less haughty.

Now it’s Claude’s turn to be rendered speechless. He knows that his room is probably a bit busier than some others and it’s hardly the strangest thing to come out of Lorenz’s mouth, but the statement is so audacious and wilfully ignorant that Claude’s sure he must have misheard.

“Come again?”

“Do not tell me you aren’t aware. Look around you, Claude. Books strewn about everywhere, dirty clothes piling up, and your bed is not even made. How can you live in such pitiable conditions?”

Lorenz sneers in disgust and takes a step forward, nearly tripping over a book on the floor by his feet. He looks down, seemingly deciding whether or not he should bend to pick it up before deciding against it, shooting Claude a glare as if to say “see what I mean?”

Claude’s instincts kick into gear then. Lorenz coming into his room just to stand around is one thing. Lorenz snooping through and touching his things is quite another. But his first attempt to verbally kick him out had failed; he has to cast his bait better if he wants Lorenz to take it hook, line and sinker.

“The door’s right behind you if you hate clutter so much. I’m sure your room’s probably better suited to your tastes, you being such a paragon of cleanliness and all.”

“I do not care for your mockery, Claude. _Children_ are more organised than you and if you have any self-respect at all, you will listen to me for once and clean up this mess,” Lorenz sighs, shaking his head like even he knows his suggestion will be forgotten as soon as he’s gone. “At least we can agree on one thing. There is nowhere I want to be less than in this room with you serving as my only company.”

“Likewise, but need I remind you that it was _you_ who followed _me_? I never asked you to come in here,” Claude can’t suppress his irritation at the pointless exchange, even when he can tell his plan is close to succeeding. Lorenz never ceases getting on his nerves, he’s coming to realise.

“A terrible miscalculation on my part,” Lorenz breaks eye contact to stare disdainfully at the collection of archery equipment scattered in front of the windowsill. It’s not quite an apology but Claude knows it’s as close as he’ll get. “If I’d known what awaited me inside, I never would have pursued you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Even once Lorenz leaves and the sounds of his footfalls disappear into nothingness, Claude stares dumbfounded at the empty space where he had been.

What in the world was that about?

* * *

Rain patters lightly against the windows, a pleasant backdrop as Lorenz gently wipes dew and pollen from his basket full of freshly-picked white roses.

Despite his aversion to the rain and storms soon to be commonplace, he’s felt rather fondly about the Garland moon since he was a boy. Yes, it marks the anniversary of his birth, but it is also when one of his most favoured traditions takes place: the picking of roses, fashioning them into garlands, and gifting them to a worthy woman who will appreciate their splendour.

It’s the first year he doesn’t have access to the vast acres of prized Gloucester rosebushes but he’s pleasantly surprised to see that Garreg Mach’s greenhouse serves as a fine substitute. The roses he picks are in full bloom, large and round with immaculate petals unfurling proudly every which way. It isn’t until his garland is nearing completion that he realises this is both a blessing and a curse. Individually, each rose is a markedly beautiful specimen, but when combined, ensure that the length of string he procured from the marketplace will be insufficient to hold them all together.

Lorenz pauses and peers down at his handiwork. The merchants will have long since packed up their stock and left the marketplace so as not to be caught in the downpour, so he cannot simply walk over and buy more. And yet, he cannot let these roses go to waste either, not after they have clearly been tended to with the utmost of care. The solution is clear: he will have to find some more string himself.

Fishing line is out of the question unless he wishes to taint his garland with the nauseating smell of fish and seawater, but the training grounds may hold something useful. He enters the supply shed and examines each shelf until he comes across a coil of bowstring. Unused, encouraged for student use, and cleaner than fishing line; it will do quite nicely. He makes his way back to the dormitory, eager to return to the task at hand, when a door further down the hall opens and someone leaves their room.

Lorenz silently prays for Claude to pass him by without a word, but his hopes are dashed when Claude makes a show of flicking his eyes down to the coil in Lorenz’s hand and back up to his face.

“Hey, Lorenz. What are you doing with that bowstring? You’re not stealing it, are you?” He says with a smile.

“How dare you! I would never—“

“Oh? You’re not?” Claude cuts him off, his smile twisting into a smirk. “Why nab it from the training grounds and bring it out here, then?”

“Not that my agenda is any of your business whatsoever,” Lorenz says through gritted teeth as he clenches the material in a fist, “but I am in the process of making a garland as is tradition and just so happened to run out of string.”

“And you want to use _this_?” Claude plucks the coil from Lorenz’s hands, chuckling before he can scold him for his appalling manners. “Lorenz, this is made for _training_ bows. It’s as cheap as it gets.”

That makes Lorenz pause and his face heats with embarrassment. It is true that he knows little of archery, but he should at least have been able to notice if the material lacked quality. Furthermore, it had to be _Claude_ to point out that he had come dangerously close to creating a garland barely held together with poor-quality string. How shameful.

“What do you propose I use instead?” He barks defensively.

“You know, it’s funny that you should be in this predicament now,” Claude’s smirk returns in full force. “I have some spare bowstring that you could use if you want. _Real_ bowstring, not this brittle stuff that breaks after an hour or two of training.”

“I do not need help from _you,_ ” Lorenz hisses, eyes narrowed.

“Suit yourself,” Claude rolls his eyes. “Make a garland that falls apart as you’re handing it to whoever you’ve got your eye on. That’ll show me.”

He shoulders past and begins to saunter away, only stopping when Lorenz utters a single, grumbled word.

“Claude.”

“Yes, Lorenz?”

“Would you be so kind as to lend me some bowstring?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

Lorenz sighs as he follows Claude into his quarters. Doubtless, he’s going to use this opportunity to taunt Lorenz at every opportunity the future will allow, but enduring such humiliation is far preferable to the alternative. He watches as Claude rummages about—of course his room is just as disorganised as the last time fate saw Lorenz inside it—and eventually produces a coil that even Lorenz can tell is much more impressive than the one he borrowed from the training grounds.

Claude beams at him and holds the coil up high as if it’s a gift from the Goddess. “I’ll let you use this, on one condition. You have to tell me who that garland is for.”

“And why would that be of any interest to you?” Lorenz stares with suspicion that only grows when Claude has the audacity to shrug playfully.

“It’s just a question, Lorenz. You want the string or not?”

Lorenz huffs at his tone but pauses and begins to think anyway. Then, frowns as he realises he should not have to think about such a simple question. He thinks harder while Claude waits patiently, and glares when he cannot find an answer. How preposterous, how _impossible_ , that he would begin creation of a gift with no recipient. He had best think of someone and return to his own room with haste, or the roses will waste away even after all this nonsense.

“That has… yet to be determined. Now, if you don’t mind, I am quite busy,” Lorenz reaches out and attempts to snatch the coil, only for Claude to pull his arm away at the last moment.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” He looks and sounds utterly shocked, as if Lorenz didn’t feel foolish enough already. “Why would you go to the trouble of doing this for someone without even knowing who that someone is?”

Another pause, wherein Lorenz, once again, has no answer and his patience finally runs out.

“That is _none_ of your concern.”

The second time, he succeeds in taking the coil. He feels Claude’s eyes on him as he storms out and lets the door fly shut with a resounding slam. His troubled mind addles him and the final garland is sloppy and untidy, a disgrace that Lorenz discards in a nearby hedge with shame.

* * *

A few weeks have passed since Byleth assigned the weekly stable cleaning duties to them and the shock upon finding out that Lorenz took to the task surprisingly well has worn off. He works as well as he talks, but always insists on passing the time with debates about the Alliance’s inner workings. Sometimes it’s interesting and his points actually manage to give Claude pause. Other times it’s like talking to a wall.

“Very well, if the Almyrans were to take advantage of House Goneril’s lowered guard and attack Fódlan’s Throat, who do you suppose would lend their aid if not House Edmund?”

“I’ve told you multiple times by now that the threat of Almyra is near nonexistent and that there’s no use talking in hypotheticals besides, but, fine, I’ll play along. _If_ the Throat were to be attacked and House Goneril’s numbers were insufficient to hold the line, House Gloucester would do the honours of providing backup.”

“I’m sorry. House _Gloucester_? What an outlandish proposition. I should love to see my father’s reaction if you or anyone else had the gall to suggest such a thing at the Roundtable.”

“Me too, believe me. I, unfortunately, couldn’t see the Count’s reaction for myself, but I heard it was hilarious. You know how he hates bending to the will of us pesky Riegans.”

From the ground floor below, Lorenz’s head swings up so quickly Claude could have sworn he heard the air move. He bites back a laugh at the thought alone and keeps his eyes firmly planted on the pile of hay he’s supposed to be replacing.

“The topic was brought up at the last meeting amid a certain Count’s concerns. I received a copy of the signed document to peruse at my leisure when I visited Derdriu last week,” he explains and looks down to meet Lorenz’s wide-eyed shock with a toothy grin.

“I do not believe such a document exists,” Lorenz harrumphs after picking his jaw up off the floor. “If it concerned House Gloucester, I would have been made aware.”

“Clearly not. I have it in my room if you don’t believe me.”

It sounds more like an invitation than a taunt, and Claude forgets why he even spoke up when Lorenz goes quiet, like he’s actually considering abandoning his post to settle this score. Claude takes the opportunity to return to the mundane task at hand, only to nearly fall out of the loft he’s crouched in when Lorenz grumbles a quiet agreement.

“I said, hurry up and show me,” he repeats when Claude asks, sounding almost as annoyed as he looks. “I know what you are thinking and do not bother making fun. I don’t wish to leave this task undone but all matters of House Gloucester require my personal and immediate attention.”

Saying Lorenz is dedicated to the nobility is about as big an understatement as saying the sun is hot, and Claude should have figured only the highest stakes would be able to pull him from their oh-so-important work. But, eye-rolling speech about duty or no, he’s all too happy to take a break and climbs down from the loft with a murmured reply of assent.

As soon as Claude lets them inside, he hears Lorenz behind him, tapping his foot on the ground impatiently. Claude wants to scoff and tell him to calm down, but he knows Lorenz doesn’t slack off as easily as he does and it won’t help him sort through his documents any faster, so he holds his tongue. It doesn’t take long to find the relevant document and Lorenz wastes no time lifting it to his face like the words are in a foreign language. His pupils flit about as he skims over the page, brows furrowed in concentration, until he finally clicks his tongue and shoves it back with a sneer.

“I don’t understand the reluctance. I’d have thought this sort of deal was right up your alley,” Claude smiles, putting on his best awe-struck voice. “Just when all hope seems lost, the brave knights of Gloucester swoop in and save the day, driving back the big, bad Almyrans once and for all.”

Lorenz sighs and lifts a hand to rub his temple, looking for all the world like he’s trying to preserve his very last shred of patience. “It is true that we would be more than capable of lending troops, but is it not much more efficient to assign that role to House Ordelia instead? Our numbers and manpower may be greater than theirs, but they are much closer in distance to House Goneril, meaning their troops will join the battle sooner and thus potentially prevent hundreds of needless deaths.”

“Under other circumstances, I’d agree, but that just isn’t possible. House Ordelia is still weakened from tangling with House Hrym’s affairs and needs time to regain their footing before they can come rushing to anyone’s aid,” like clockwork, all of the humour falls out of Claude’s face and voice as he speaks. Political debates are almost routine at this point, though he can’t quite say the same about how he keeps finding ways to bring Lorenz to his room. At least this time they managed to stay on topic.

“I fail to understand how assisting House Hrym in a short-lived time of rebellion thirteen years ago has such long-lasting repercussions. How it could possibly leave House Ordelia more vulnerable than even House Edmund to this day.”

“As it turns out, the situation is a bit more nuanced than that. House Ordelia isn’t just lacking in troops, they’ve also lost much of their influence due to being out of the political picture for so long. There’s a lot they aren’t capable of for now, hence why the other Houses are helping them out.”

That makes Lorenz still. He frowns in deep thought, staring at the paper on Claude’s desk like it’s insulted his family before he clears his throat and the disquiet in his eyes vanishes.

“I will concede that perhaps I am not as informed about the intricacies of House Ordelia as I should be,” he says stiffly. Despite all but handing Claude the debate, he looks up and manages a smile. It’s barely there, only a small and noticeably hesitant quirk, but it’s free of Lorenz’s usual smug condescension for once. With more practice, it could be wry and teasing like the ones Claude throws at him so often.

“As much as it pains me to say it, I must thank you for this learning opportunity. I will speak with Lysithea as soon as possible and fill this gap in my knowledge. But first, come along, Claude. We have a stable to clean.”

He’s gone in an instant, sweeping out of the room with his chin raised high. Claude only lingers for a moment before following closely behind, holding back a grin of his own.

* * *

The long-awaited ball, a night that promises festivities and good cheer for all.

Lorenz feels right at home in the ballroom, taking the hands of noble maiden after noble maiden and leading them in an elegant flourish around the dance floor. It’s unfortunate that not all of them accept his invitation, but with so many women and so little time, Lorenz can hardly complain.

But, as the ball wears on and his stamina is pushed to its limits, it becomes apparent that something is wrong. Or, rather, not wrong, but missing. The feeling gnaws at him until Hilda weaves her way through the crowd and approaches him.

“Do you happen to know where Claude is right now?” She asks, uncharacteristically concerned with her hands upon her hips and eyes darting around the room.

Claude? Yes, he supposes that could be it. Quite a few hours have passed since Lorenz saw him forcefully seize the Professor’s hand, drag them onto the dance floor and haphazardly spin them around like a reckless child at play. Lorenz had hurriedly torn his eyes from the offensive excuse of a dance and has since been too preoccupied with his own partners to keep an eye on his troublesome house leader, a fact that brings Hilda no comfort as she sighs and flits away to ask someone else.

From then on, Lorenz’s focus is shaken and his mind wanders. Normally Claude’s foolish antics aren’t worth worrying about, but noble men and women alike eagerly await this night and the opportunity to demonstrate one’s pedigree through the art of dance. As the leader of the Golden Deer house and heir of House Riegan, Claude ought to know this already and should be not only present, but leaping at the chance to improve his poor disposition. If he isn’t here, just where is he?

Lorenz’s annoyance grows and he fumbles, going so far as to step on his partner’s foot and knock elbows with a passing couple. He winces. Such ineptitude is utterly inexcusable, especially for a man of his station, and he excuses himself before he can embarrass himself further. That settles it; if Claude is going to distract him this much even while absent, then Lorenz will simply have to find him and demand an explanation for his irresponsibility himself.

The hour grows later and the moon rises higher as he checks the dining hall, the library, even the Goddess Tower. His patience wears thin; he is supposed to be enjoying himself, not wasting his time and energy running around in a fruitless search for Claude of all people. So be it, he thinks as exhaustion seeps into his bones and he turns off towards the dormitories. Whatever inane thing Claude deemed more important than the ball is none of his concern anyway.

The second floor hallway is quiet and Lorenz’s footsteps ring out in a steady rhythm. An idea intrudes as he crosses the hall; a last resort before granting himself a well-deserved rest. He isn’t sure what he expects when he knocks on the door to the immediate left of his own, but it certainly isn’t a single beat of silence before it opens.

Claude clearly hadn’t been expecting any visitors, as he’s dressed down in his evening wear and the inside of his room is barely illuminated by dim candlelight. He blinks blearily, letting his eyes adjust to the brightly-lit hallway, and looks up at Lorenz.

“Can I help you?” He mumbles, a brow raised in confusion.

“As a matter of fact, you can. What are you doing here?”

Claude sighs, opens the door further, and trudges back inside. After a moment spent deliberating, curiosity wins out and Lorenz follows him, tentatively so as not to trip over whatever odds or ends Claude has likely left lying around.

“What do you think? I got tired, so I turned in.”

“Really. You were _tired._ ” Lorenz shakes his head, an exasperated gesture that Claude ignores. “Did you give any thought to the situation before selfishly whisking yourself away? I’m certain you’re aware that letting such a night of opportunities go to waste is laughably poor form.”

Claude collapses down into his desk chair and slouches the same way he does in the classroom, with horrendous posture and his arms folded behind his head. He pointedly doesn’t offer a seat to Lorenz, leaving him with little choice but to take the spare chair in the corner for himself.

“Hey, give me some credit. I was there for hours before the noise and the lights and the crowd became too much,” Claude looks up and grins devilishly, a glint in his eye that Lorenz blames the candlelight for. “But I suppose nobles like you are too busy twirling up and down the dance floor all night to pay attention to that.”

“Quite the contrary,” Lorenz bites back defensively. “Admittedly, I often find the prolonged excitement rather daunting myself but every such event I have attended has been of the utmost importance. Certainly far more important than my own childish feelings of weariness.”

“That so?” Claude’s response is short and sharp, accompanied by a stare that gives Lorenz the distinct impression that Claude sees right through him despite the low light.

“Do not sound so taken aback. Not everyone can afford to act as nonchalantly about our outward appearances as you. Some of us have dignity and reputations to uphold.”

It’s a familiar pattern of jesting that is new to neither of them, but Claude’s only reply is a low mutter. As the conversation falls away, so too does the lighthearted atmosphere. Lorenz had intended to find out why Claude wasn’t at the ball and now that he has his answer, why hasn’t he left yet? He stands to do just that, searching for an explanation that won’t make him sound like a fool, but Claude is faster.

“You know, I bet you’re even more exhausted than me right now. Some self-awareness would pair really well with all that concern for your ‘outward appearance’,” he says to Lorenz’s back.

Lorenz stops dead in his tracks.

“I beg your pardon?” He breathes, baffled, offended, speechless.

“Go back to your room and sleep on it.”

Claude’s mirthless smile robs Lorenz of his reply. It remains imprinted in his mind as he wanders the short distance to his quarters, forgoes his evening tea, and thinks.

* * *

Three days before the battle that will decide their fate, Claude sits in his room in quiet contemplation.

Between the strategy meetings with Teach, the Deer, and anyone with any semblance of authority combined with hours upon hours of training, nobody really has the luxury of personal time anymore. Claude doesn’t complain, of course; he knows it’s for the best. War is something no one can take lightly, especially knowing what’s already happened and not knowing what’s to come. 

So, when he finishes his set of training regimens in record time, he should feel relieved, perhaps even overjoyed, to find himself with an afternoon free to relax.

He doesn’t.

The silence is suffocating when there’s nothing but his own overactive thoughts to fill it, and Claude almost lets out an audible breath of relief when there’s a knock at his door. It’s been barely an hour since they last saw each other at the training grounds, but Lorenz is a sight for sore eyes and Claude wordlessly lets him in. He’s hardly surprised by how natural it feels, like a part of his daily routine; a lot of their time spent in the other’s company lately has been by choice and Claude would invite a Demonic Beast inside if only to distract himself from the situation he’s in.

“Do you really think it wise to sit in your room and stare at the wall three days before the most important battle of our lives?” Lorenz says as he meanders inside and claims the spare seat. It’s the sort of greeting that Claude’s grown far too used to over their interactions in the past few months, even if it’s without any bite this time.

Even if Claude, in turn, has trouble forcing a lopsided grin and his reply comes out deadpan.

“And I suppose you have better things to do than come straight here after training and give me an earful about it?”

That, at least, earns him a visual reaction as Lorenz wrinkles his nose, albeit with a fraction of his exaggerated noble flair.

“I am not an animal, Claude. I have the bare minimum of decency to bathe in between training and arriving here.”

“Thanks for that mental image.”

“You say the most ridiculous nonsense,“ Lorenz sighs, and Claude barely catches a glimpse of his flushed cheeks before they’re buried in his hands. “I’ll have you know there was a reason I came here and it did not include your inane chatter.”

“You should know there’s no escaping that by now, but please. Enlighten me,” Claude closes the book he hadn’t really been reading and makes himself comfortable, ready to put his teasing on hold and hear him out.

Across the room, Lorenz is silent as he stares at the floor, his brows furrowed, lips curled into a frown and a faraway look in his eyes. The display is so far removed from his usual obnoxious grandeur that Claude briefly entertains prompting him to speak up, before Lorenz finds the words he had been looking for and murmurs his question quietly.

“Do you really think we can win?”

Claude’s brows shoot up into his hairline. He must be missing something because if there’s one thing he’s known since their very first conversation all those months ago, it’s that Lorenz Hellman Gloucester has confidence in abundance. And yet, here he is, proving that notion wrong and seeking Claude out for a last-minute pep talk.

“Isn’t it a little late to be doubting yourself?” Claude can’t help but dodge the question, knowing that there’s no way to truthfully answer. Where he would normally expect a sputter of indignation and a swift verbal reprimand for such an asinine accusation, he hears only a soft sigh, sees only a subtle shake of the head.

“I am hardly doubting myself, Claude. I have simply had… rather a lot on my mind as of late,” Lorenz looks up with only a passing resemblance to his usual self. It takes a moment for Claude to place the dark intensity in his eyes as _fear_ and he quietly lets out a breath.

“I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that House Gloucester shares a border with the Empire,” Lorenz continues, oblivious to Claude’s shock. His voice doesn’t quite waver, but it sounds thinner, quieter, weaker. “Should we lose this battle, the lives of my family and all of our citizens will be in great and immediate danger. The chance that the Empire will succeed is a threat I cannot ignore, and the onus will be on me for the countless lives lost should we fail.”

Claude swallows, thinks through his reply carefully. Grim as those words may be, he can’t bring himself to fully disagree, even though doing so is the last thing Lorenz would want to hear anyway.

“We all have something to lose; our homes, families, futures. I can’t promise our victory, but I can promise that,” is what he decides on. “If blood will be on your hands if we lose, let that guide your lance and fight with all of your strength.”

He’s met with a stern frown and Lorenz’s deep, violet gaze piercing through him. “You needn’t speak to me as though I was ever planning on doing otherwise. Of course I will fight for the Alliance until I draw my last breath, however far away that may be.”

He trails off to a whisper towards the end but his words are loud when they echo in Claude’s skull, the steadfast finality coating them lighting a fire in his chest. Emboldened, he stands from his bed before he can help it and lets his voice turn as hard as rock.

“Far be it from me to fill your head with false hope, but as long as we have something to fight for, we won’t give it up so easily. You won’t be on your own out there, Lorenz, and you won’t die.”

“You cannot guarantee that,” Lorenz says, quick, ice-cold, and without an ounce of hesitation, like he was ready for it. “If I must lay down my life to protect the Alliance, then so be it.”

“You’re right, I can’t promise that, nor can I say I wouldn’t do the same,” Claude pauses and takes a breath, meeting Lorenz’s stare head on. “But we’ll achieve more living for the Alliance than dying for it, and that goes for all of us.”

A long silence falls. It’s neither comfortable nor uncomfortable, and Claude can’t tell how long it takes the seconds to stretch into minutes. It doesn’t matter; he’s said his piece, and he prefers to keep thoughts of death away from his bedroom, so he wanders over to the door and opens it.

“Do your best out there, Lorenz. Just like always.”

Lorenz stands, his head bowed as if he’s struggling to summon his words for a suitable reply. He gives no warning before he meets Claude’s eyes and his mouth pulls into a smile more rewarding than any teeth-flashing, eye-crinkling grin Claude’s ever seen. He’s not exactly overjoyed, but he looks like Lorenz again and there’s nothing but calm sincerity in his voice when he replies.

“And you as well, Claude.”

* * *

They don’t see each other often after that.

Not when nearly five years of turmoil places them firmly on opposing sides of the war, sees them buried in the duties of Count Gloucester and Duke Riegan.

And then, nothing short of a miracle happens when the Professor seemingly rises from the grave, reunites with the former Golden Deer to reclaim Garreg Mach, and suddenly the future doesn’t seem quite so hopeless.

Despite the unexpected turn Lorenz’s life takes, all is not well just yet. House Gloucester is still allied with the Empire and, try as Lorenz might to convince his father to reconsider, the only way to free them from the Empire’s grasp is by re-capturing the Great Bridge of Myrddin.

Lorenz feels his heart pulse as he ponders the upcoming mission. Not only will their victory drive the last of the Imperial troops out from Alliance territory and allow them to begin their formal assault on the Empire, it will also mark the first time he will knowingly defy his father and begin to walk his own path.

Perhaps it is selfish to feel that the simple act of choosing to stand with Claude over Father is even remotely comparable to reclaiming a crucial piece of territory that will turn the tides of the war as they know it, but Lorenz cannot help it. How naive he once was, to think that Claude was nothing but an untrustworthy scoundrel and an inferior leader. How blind he had been to the iron grip Father held him in, to the sort of man he was in the dark. No longer will Lorenz allow such a poisonous individual to reign over his life, his way of being.

“Right, Lorenz?”

He starts and looks up at Claude, standing proud at the head of the table and waiting expectantly for an answer. An answer that Lorenz cannot give. How could he have been so careless to tune out their strategy meeting?

“Indeed,” he says carefully after a moment of floundering.

He hears snickers rise up from the table as Hilda and Leonie fail to conceal their amusement at the apparently poor answer. Embarrassment floods him, replaced with guilt when Claude lets the document in his hands float down and join the others on the table.

“Let’s call it a day there,” Claude says, rather than making a joke at Lorenz’s expense like his younger self would have. “This meeting’s lasted long enough and it looks like it’s taking its toll.”

The Golden Deer give a chorus of murmured replies and eventually file out of the room one by one. Once he and Claude are the only two who remain, Lorenz stands and gathers up his stack of documents that he paid far less attention to than he should have.

“A moment, if you will,” he says to Claude, who looks up in intrigue. His eyes are as bright and inquisitive as always, and Lorenz clears his suddenly dry throat before continuing. “I apologise for losing my focus today. If it suits, I wish to discuss any pertinent details I may have missed over tea.”

Claude offers him an easygoing smile and pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, Lorenz. It’s a busy time for all of us right now. But sure, I’d like that.”

“Very well. To my quarters.”

It occurs to Lorenz as they reach the dorms on the far side of the monastery that Claude has never entered his room before, not once since they returned here a few months ago and not once during their time as students. There is nothing to fear—his room is as perfectly neat and tidy as it always was and Claude is a trusted friend and ally—but he still feels a twinge of unease as Claude saunters inside and unceremoniously makes himself at home in the centre of Lorenz’s bed.

No matter, he tells himself as he begins prepping their tea. He’s out of chamomile, a blend that would have restored his poor concentration, and offhandedly makes a note to purchase some more. If he recalls, it’s also a blend that Claude seems to enjoy, so he’d best procure some quickly for the next time they take tea.

He blinks at himself and stops pouring. That’s a rather strange and abrupt thought. The only reason Claude is in his room right now is because Lorenz was foolish enough to let himself get distracted during the meeting. He should not let his mind wander thinking of any potential ‘next times’, regardless of how much he might enjoy taking tea with Claude again.

“W-well, as you were saying?” Cheeks pink, Lorenz breaks the silence before he can dwell on the thought.

“Hm?” Claude hums, a low and light sound, before he shifts back to Duke Riegan. “Oh, right. Meeting. Well, the last thing we went over was a confirmation from Judith and a messenger report that our supply routes are now coming through Riegan territory to not draw too much attention to the Daphnel troops.”

Lorenz nods his understanding and turns away from his desk. Two warm teacups rest in his hands and it’s all he can do to not lose his grip on them and send them clattering to the floor when he lays eyes on the man lounging on his bed.

Claude looks, in a word, drained. His relaxed and carefree slouch belies the exhaustion weighing down his limbs when he takes the teacup, his lazy smile distracting from the dark circles beneath his eyes that are so clearly struggling to stay open. Lorenz feels yet another pang of guilt for his impudence and wishes for their meeting to end quickly so that Claude may rest, even though he knows the ridiculous man likely will not do so.

“I also obtained,” Claude sets down his teacup and pulls some papers out from the stack, “this report about the Imperial troops currently stationed at the Bridge, courtesy of our spies.”

Lorenz accepts the report and immediately sets to inspecting it, taking periodic sips of tea until his cup is empty. It’s informative, but, as he should have pointed out during the meeting, does not account for any potential reinforcements, Imperial or otherwise.

“Claude,” he says in a murmur, his eyes scanning over the words a second time. “I fear this report does not give us the full scope of the situation. Knowing Father’s distrust of you, once we deploy it will be but a matter of time until he catches wind of our plans and sends reinforcements. We must be diligent.”

He lays the report down and sets the teacup aside while he waits for a reply, but receives nothing.

“Claude?” Lorenz repeats, turning to look over his shoulder.

Behind him, Claude looks much the same as he did a few minutes ago; nestled into Lorenz’s pillows, arms folded behind his head, legs dangling off the side of the mattress. Only now, his eyes are closed, his lips are parted the barest amount and his chest is slowly rising and falling. Asleep.

Lorenz’s brows crease as he stares. He cannot help but wonder how long it’s been since Claude allowed himself a proper night’s sleep: days, weeks, perhaps even months. He quickly decides it doesn’t matter because Claude looks content and peaceful, and Lorenz knows within himself that he will not be the one to disturb such rest. Not so soon. He chances one more look at Claude and feels a small smile slip onto his face before he turns around and begins to work through his own stack of neglected paperwork.

Before long, sleep beckons Lorenz too. He isn’t sure if it’s the quiet atmosphere, the soothing cup of tea he refilled for himself, or the knowledge that Claude is slumbering comfortably right behind him that brings it on, but it beckons all the same. Gently placing his quill down, he stretches his stiff limbs and hears movement behind him.

“Wait, did I— fall asleep?” Claude’s voice is coarse but sheepish as he stands in the middle of the room looking lost. “Gods, Lorenz, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Lorenz’s lips quirk into that same smile from earlier, but only now does he recognise it as fondness.

“Do not fret, Claude. Something told me that you needed it and so I did not wish to disturb you.”

“Oh. Really?” Claude looks puzzled but nonetheless breaks out into a smile to match Lorenz’s own. “Thanks, I appreciate it. But, you’re right about one of those things. I should get back to my own room now.”

Lorenz nods. Discussions and reports and war councils all seem so insignificant now. He watches as Claude leans to collect his documents, hesitates, and approaches not the door, but Lorenz instead.

Then, he leans up and presses his lips to Lorenz’s cheek. The touch is light and tender, yet purposeful, ending quickly when Claude shifts his mouth to Lorenz’s ear.

“Until next time.”

It’s spoken as a whisper, a promise meant for nobody’s ears but theirs, and Lorenz cannot hide his blissful smile.

“I look forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to my friends and readers! if you enjoyed, please consider leaving a comment to spark joy and help me improve 💜💛


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